Page:Collected poems Robinson, Edwin Arlington.djvu/269

 "This coil of Lancelot and Guinevere Is not for any mortal to undo, Or to deny, or to make otherwise; But your most violent years are on their way To days, and to a sounding of loud hours That are to strike for war. Let not the time Between this hour and then be lost in fears, Or told in obscurations and vain faith In what has been your long security; For should your force be slower then than hate, And your regret be sharper than your sight, And your remorse fall heavier than your sword,- Then say farewell to Camelot, and the crown. But say not you have lost, or failed in aught Your golden horoscope of imperfection Has held in starry words that I have read. I see no farther now than I saw then, For no man shall be given of everything Together in one life ; yet I may say The time is imminent when he shall come For whom I founded the Siege Perilous; And he shall be too much a living part Of what he brings, and what he burns away in, To be for long a vexed inhabitant Of this mad realm of stains and lower trials. And here the ways of God again are mixed: For this new knight who is to find the Grail For you, and for the least who pray for you In such lost coombs and hollows of the world As you have never entered, is to be The son of him you trusted Lancelot, Of all who ever jeopardized a throne Sure the most evil-fated, saving one, Your son, begotten, though you knew not then Your leman was your sister, of Morgause;